


Truths, Damned Truths and Statistics

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: West Wing
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Gen, Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-03
Updated: 2010-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 21:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone finally calls Josh out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truths, Damned Truths and Statistics

  
"Dale Bracket? You brought Dale _Bracket_?" Josh mouths, his back to the unfairly handsome interpreter.

"Yes," Joey replies, her face twisted into the usual Joey-expression of mild annoyance and general disbelief at Josh's lack of human decency. Some days, Josh doesn't blame her. But his script writes itself, and Dale Bracket really is a tool.

"Okay. Whatever," he says aloud. "Are you doing anything later?"

"Yes Josh, I am _doing_ something," Joey replies, or rather Dale replies, and Josh does his usual tennis-tournament-style observation, eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them, or rather the three of them (Dale, Joey, and Joey's breasts). "I'm meeting with senior staff, which is why you flew me out to this God-forsaken city in the middle of a vacation--again--and then I'm conducting a poll for _your_ President."

"Whoa whoa, no need to get snippy," Josh grins. There's a second's delay as Joey watches Dale's hands, before full Joey-rage sets in. He thinks Dale looks a little smug.

"Oh _fuck_ you, Josh."

"Hey, wait, Dale, buddy, you might want to keep your voice down, this is the White--"

"Stop talking to him," Joey interrupts. "You can talk to me, and I'll raise my goddamned voice if I want to, Joshua, because it's time somebody pointed out that you are a crude, insensitive, objectifier of every living thing with two legs and a pussy..."

"Joey! West Wing, serve at the pleasure of the President, ix-nay on the ussy-pay."

She frowns a little at Dale as he fingerspells rapidly, and Josh guesses pig latin doesn't translate too well into ASL, but then she's at him again, hands flying practically in his face, and he's noticing that they're starting to draw a crowd.

"Exactly! The West Wing. And what, Josh, is the West Wing mostly made up of?"

"Uh... powerful people and expensive art?"

"Secretaries! Secretaries, assistants, interns, a group of people that is disproportionately female, despite the best liberal intentions of this administration, and hey, I have an idea, let's conduct an informal poll!" she exclaims. Her eyes are a little wild as she signs, and Josh can't decide if that's really hot or if he should be looking for the exits. Or both. "That's what I do, right? A poll! Okay, how many of you standing here are offended by the suggestion that Joshua Lyman is a misogynist pig? Show of hands."

Joey waits with her hands on her hips, giving Josh a pointed look, as the fifteen or so people standing around look at each other and shrug. Josh glances helplessly at the assistants, at _Donna_ for Christ's sake, and he's starting to feel a little less cheerful and a little more embarrassed.

"Very good, and now, how many people are offended by my use of somewhat salty language to communicate this sentiment?" Joey asks. One hand goes up, only about halfway. Joey nods sharply. "I rest my case. You're damned lucky that most of the people in power around here are men, Josh, or you'd be out on your ass. Now get out of my way," she adds out loud. "I have a job to do."

She pushes past him, and he sees Leo standing halfway out of his office. He looks as if he's about to consider saying something to Joey, but instead just gives Josh a little look, the "fix this" look, and steps back inside. The assistants are all looking at him rather smugly, and Josh is starting to feel like a little boy who's gotten too big for his britches. His cheeks are flaming as they all watch him slink into his office and lock the door.

Josh feels the blood in his face, the shame of being called out on something he _knows_ is true. If it weren't, he'd be angry, righteously angry, but he's just been bitched out by a woman in the middle of the workday and she's _right_. He's embarrassed as all hell, and even more inexplicably, he has a hard-on.

He's back to that day in gym class, tenth grade, Mary Shanahan called him a girl and he nearly came in his shorts. This is not natural. It's sure as hell not right, and he's not taking an afternoon jerk-off break in the West Wing. That's the kind of behavior Joey Lucas would expect. No, work trumps sex, and so he grabs a briefing paper off the top of a stack, all the while trying not to think of her yelling in his face without words, trying not to imagine himself naked while she does it, naked and in public and called out in front of the gym class. In front of the office. Fuck, he needs to concentrate. He reads the first lines and banishes Joey Lucas's competent hands, perky breasts, and Dale Bracket, P.I., from his brain.


End file.
